Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
Asher
As I head toward Edward’s house, it strikes me that the heavy weight that sat in my chest the last time I made this drive, pressing down like an anchor, isn’t there.
Or at least, it’s not as oppressive as before.
Maybe Kat was onto something with her advice about having something to look forward to afterward.
About giving myself a reward for getting through the hard stuff.
Or maybe it’s because I can still taste her on my lips. Can still feel the brush of her breath against my skin and the way her fingers felt against my jaw, hear the soft sound she made in her throat.
I reach over and mess with the dashboard controls, adjusting the heater even though it’s already set exactly where I want it.
Then I fiddle with the radio, skipping through stations without really listening to any of them.
Anything to distract myself from the way my cock twitches at the memory of her mouth on mine.
When I pull up outside Edward’s house, I give myself a couple of seconds before I turn off the car, taking a few deep breaths. Then I get out and head up the walkway to knock on the door. It takes him a little while to answer, but then the door swings open.
“Asher.” He dips his chin in greeting, balancing on his crutches just like last time. “Come on in.”
Before I can even take my coat off, Murphy comes rushing over from wherever he’s been lurking, meowing so loudly that it’s almost like a bullhorn.
“Hey, big guy,” I say, crouching down to scratch behind his ears. He starts purring like a small motor, butting his head against my hand with enough force that I nearly lose my balance.
“He’s been waiting by the door for the past hour,” Edward says. “I think he knew you were coming.”
I glance up at Edward as I continue petting Murphy, and I notice immediately that he’s moving more stiffly than he was yesterday.
His face is drawn, with lines of pain etched around his mouth and eyes that weren’t as pronounced last time I saw him.
Even the way he’s standing on the crutches looks more labored.
“You okay? You look like you’re hurting more today than yesterday.”
“I’m fine,” he says, but he grunts in pain when he shifts his weight and accidentally jostles the boot against the doorframe.
“When did you last take your pain meds?”
“This morning, I think.” He pauses, his brow furrowing. “Or maybe it was yesterday evening. I don’t remember exactly.”
“Dad.” The word comes out before I can stop it, and we both freeze for a second at the slip. I haven’t called him that in years, always using his first name to maintain distance. “Edward,” I correct quickly. “You need to take them. That’s what they’re for.”
“I don’t like taking them unless I have to,” he says, making his way slowly toward the living room. “They make me foggy, and I hate not feeling sharp.”
“You’re not doing yourself any favors by being in pain. Where are they?”
He points toward the kitchen counter. “In the white bottle next to the coffee maker.”
I grab the pill bottle and a glass of water, bringing both back to where he’s lowered himself into his recliner. I watch him take the medication, making sure he actually swallows it.
“Now you’re going to sit there and rest that leg,” I tell him. “I’ll take care of the stuff that needs doing around here.”
“I can help,” he protests weakly.
“You can help by staying out of my way and letting those meds kick in. What needs to be done?”
He gives me a short list. The radiator in the living room has been making weird clanking noises and not putting out enough heat.
There’s a loose cabinet hinge in the kitchen that needs tightening.
A couple of light bulbs in the hallway need replacing, but the fixture is too high for him to reach safely on crutches.
I start with the radiator, grabbing some tools from Edward’s toolbox and then kneeling down beside it to get a better angle on the valve.
Unfortunately, as I get to work, Murphy decides he needs to be directly involved in the process too.
He keeps rubbing against my arms, nearly knocking the wrench out of my hand, purring so loudly I can barely hear the sounds the radiator is making.
From his chair, Edward lets out a laugh. It’s rusty-sounding, like he doesn’t do it often. “He really wants to help.”
“Not now, Murphy.” I click my tongue against my teeth, trying to gently push the cat aside. “Come on, big guy. I need to actually be able to reach this.”
The cat meows indignantly, tilting his head to one side. He moves about six inches away before immediately trying to climb back into my space, as if determined to be as close to me as physically possible.
Even I have to chuckle at his persistence. “Okay, fine. You can supervise. Just stop trying to get right in front of me.”
After about half an hour of fiddling, I manage to get the valve adjusted properly and test it, satisfied when I hear the radiator let out a low, steady hiss. Murphy watches the whole process with intent focus, as if he’s going to be the one who has to fix it next time.
“He really likes you,” Edward comments from his chair. “I’ve never seen him act this way with anyone else. Usually, he tolerates my presence and ignores everyone else.”
“Yeah, I noticed.” I reach over to give Murphy another scratch, and the cat practically melts under my hand. “How’d you end up with him, anyway? You never struck me as a cat person growing up. You always said they were too independent.”
“I didn’t exactly ‘get’ him.” Edward taps his fingers against his chin. “He just showed up one day about three years ago, maybe a little longer. Middle of winter, fur all thick, mean as anything. Feral, clearly. He’d hiss if I got within ten feet of him.”
“So what changed?”
“I started leaving food out. Not because I wanted a cat, but because I figured if he was going to hang around my property, I might as well make sure he didn’t starve.
” Edward shifts in his chair, seeming to get a bit more comfortable as the pain medication starts to work.
“Took months before he’d let me get close.
Even longer before he’d come inside. Eventually, he just decided to stay. ”
“So he adopted you,” I observe, moving on to check another part of the radiator.
“Pretty much.” There’s a pause, and then my father adds, “I let him stick around because I needed the company, if I’m being honest. Gets quiet out here by myself. Too quiet, sometimes.”
Something twists hard in my chest at that admission. I don’t want to think about Edward being all alone out here, no one to talk to beyond a feral cat he managed to befriend. No one checking on him, no one calling to see how he’s doing. Just him and Murphy in this house, day after day.
“Don’t you have friends in Maplewood? People you see regularly? Hang out with?”
“I’m friendly with my neighbors,” he says after a moment. “The Burtons next door, we wave when we see each other. Chat about the weather. And I know people in town from running errands and that kind of thing.”
“But no one you’re actually close to.”
“No.” His answer is simple, straightforward. “I never got too close to anyone after I moved here. Got out of the habit of developing relationships, I guess, and never really got it back.”
I swallow hard, looking back at the radiator.
Everything he just said hits too close to home, making me think about my own life over the past year.
How I’ve retreated into myself after all the career uncertainty, the injury that changed everything, the constant anxiety about whether I’ll ever get back to where I was.
Not letting people in, keeping everyone at arm’s length except for maybe one or two of my ex-teammates who refused to be shut out.
I don’t want to end up like him. Alone in a house with only a cat for company and no one to call when things go wrong.
“I’m glad you have Murphy, at least,” I say, my voice a bit thick.
“Me too.” Edward hums quietly under his breath. “He’s better company than most people anyway. Doesn’t judge, doesn’t ask questions I can’t answer.”
After that, we lapse into silence. Not comfortable exactly, but not as tense as it could be.
I finish adjusting the radiator and move on to the kitchen, where I tighten the loose cabinet hinge and check a few others while I’m at it.
Then I tackle the light bulbs in the hallway, standing on a chair to reach the fixtures.
Murphy follows me from room to room, his presence a constant shadow. Every time I stop moving, he’s there, rubbing against my legs or trying to climb onto whatever surface I’m working on. It’s endearing, in a way, even if it’s definitely not as helpful as he seems to think it is.
By the time I’m done with everything that was on the list for today, it’s a little before two.
When I come back into the living room, Edward has dozed off in his chair, his head tipped back and his mouth slightly open.
Murphy—who finally got bored and wandered off a few minutes ago—is curled up on his lap in an orange circle, sleeping too.
I stand there for a moment, gazing at them in silence. My father looks older when he’s sleeping, more vulnerable. The lines on his face seem deeper, more pronounced, and the gray in his hair stands out against the other strands that are still as dark as mine.
“I’m heading out,” I say quietly.
His eyes open slowly, and for a second, he looks disoriented. Then he focuses on me, blinking a few times. There’s something vulnerable in his expression, as if he’s let his guard down in his half-awake state.
“Already?” he asks, his voice rough from sleep.
“Yeah. I’ve got plans at two.”
“Right. Of course.” He straightens slightly in the chair, disturbing Murphy, who meows in protest but doesn’t actually move. “Thank you for coming. For all the work. I appreciate the help more than I can say.”